


Dance Revolution - Avengers Edition

by TheBleedingVicar, turibasil



Category: Frozen (2013), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Chameleon Circuit, Crack, F/M, Kiss The Girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBleedingVicar/pseuds/TheBleedingVicar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/turibasil/pseuds/turibasil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An absolutely fabulous fic that you should definitely read with marvellous (pun intended) costumes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Revolution - Avengers Edition

Scene: 

Steve Rogers stands solemnly in a plain grey room, his hair perfectly brushed. The room contains grey walls and many small mirrors. He looks around, almost like an anti-American terrorist standing in the shadow of an American flag around which recline many balding middle-aged slightly obese white men drinking brandy. The metaphorical middle-aged men are gazing poshly at the suspicious package almost hidden underneath the also metaphorical terrorist’s patched leather jacket. Soothing strains of a (again, metaphorical) rich violin smoothly cover the faint but fanatic chatter of the Christian Americans.

Suddenly the non-metaphorical piano starts tinkling. Rogers slowly starts stripping off his non-descript plain t-shirt. Some members of Roger’s mental audience sigh expectantly, whilst the friend that escorted them to the event groan that he’s not actually that attractive. The metaphoric lust-stricken audience members simultaneously frown slightly. Instead of the supersoldier chest they were expecting, his shirt slowly slides off to reveal – a tutu? A _nice_ tutu, but nevertheless… a tutu. Hot pink and adorned with baby blue – snowflakes? The reason for this becomes apparent when Idina Menzel’s voice starts to croon about how bad her life is, metaphorically. Rogers’ gladiator stiletto’d foot starts to tap gingerly, unused to this height lark. After a slight wobbly pause, during which the massive snowflake balanced carefully on his tiara sways from side to side, dragging his head down lower and lower, he starts attacking an extremely skillful dance routine, combining 70% barroom, 10% ballet, 15% ballroom and 5% jazz. Suddenly, his mental audience disappears as a vaguely annoyed voice drifts from the doorway.

“Steve,” it proclaims, pulling said superhero back to – at least partial – reality. “What.”

Rogers looks reproachfully at Tony Stark, holding his gaze for many minutes.

A world of understanding passes through the still air.

Clint Barton and an elephant foot stand exchange amused glances.

Stark glances down at his body. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I look stupid in red.”

He slowly starts to unbutton his uncharacteristic red and gold button-down.

Rogers holds a small palm-card up to his left eye. It reads; cue mental audience.

The lust stricken audience is back, whistling its appreciation, still shocked, but prepared to come back with spirit if Tony Stark de-robing is anywhere on the show-plan. Some of the unbelievers secretly express their appreciation. Many more people know than they suspect.

There is a flash of baby blue, and the audience groan slightly, as Stark unveils a sequined leotard liberally scattered with feathers, clumping on the buttocks to make canary-esque tailfeathers. The costume follows the potential overall theme of the evening – hot pink and baby blue. A ludicrously oversized ostrich egg balances impossibly on his diamond tiara, and equally oversized eggs adorn the toes of his stilettos.

He falls into step with Rogers, and mutters out of the corner of his mouth “Where’d you get those great waxing strips?”

“Oh, just down the road at Target.”

“Really? They seem to work great. What brand?”

“Just the closest to my hand at the time.”

A meek Bruce Banner creeps in behind them and follows their lead by defrocking. He falls into step and mumbles to Tony “I use Veet, they should really work on your legs, make them look great.”

Stark looks Banner up and down. His cheeky miniskirt accentuates his legs and his crop top enhances his breasts. If he, you know, had any mammary glands. Not that Stark was noticing. His eye was caught by the impressively large USB mounted on Banner’s emerald tiara, and wonders how he can stay upright with shoes to match. He nods, and mutters his thanks.

Banner looks slightly wounded. “No really, you would look fantastic.”

“NOT AS FANTASTIC AS ME,” Clint Barton loudly proclaims as he grandly jetés over the balcony rail that runs around the room. His short shorts and bell-sleeved top definitely enhanced his arms, the elephant foot stand attempts to pretend that it doesn’t notice.

Barton’s spider (?) tiara seems to wink at me reproachfully, Natasha Romanoff thought as she gracefully ripped off the elephant foot stand disguise to reveal a larger elephant skin as she shouted “NONE OF YOU SHALL LOOK AS FANTASTIC AS I!” Romanoff and Barton pretended to ignore each others tiaras, an oversized arrow and a black widow spider respectively.

Thor grandly flew down from the heavens, his minuscule pink and blue cloak flapping rather pathetically, his hammer-shaped bikini not exactly hiding much. He flew around the pair, his god-like fake British baritone rendering Chameleon Circuit’s Kiss The Girl to the tune of the can-can. The rest of the Avengers circled around Romanoff and Barton, majestically (and miraculously) kicking up their heels in true old-school can-can style.

Meanwhile, Loki and Pepper stood in the doorway, both with eyebrows raised. Pepper turned towards Loki. “You see what I have to put up with? I live with one of these. Really, you got off easy.”

“You know what? I believe I may agree.”

End Scene

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> mehui has an alternate ending


End file.
